Retribution (Book 3 of The Dominion Series) (53 page)

""You could never lose me. I
love
you, Michel," I say, my throat choking with emotion. "I have since that day in my flat when you stood at my piano and said music was your passion. That it made existence bearable. I even wrote that down as the last line in my entry that day. I wrote,
'I think I'm in love with him and I've only just met him'
. Nothing has changed that. If anything, I love you even more."

He gaze moves over my face as if he can't believe what I'm saying. Then he closes his eyes and leans in, kissing me so tenderly that I feel as if my heart might explode. Soon, the love turns back to lust and I can't wait any longer. I'm ready to feed, but now, instead of him using his nail to open a seam in his neck from which I'll feed, I'll bite him.

He sits up, and I start to undress him, ripping his shirt off his body, the buttons flying. Now, we're both desperate to get completely naked and when we finally are, I sink onto him, riding him while I drink from his neck and the bliss is almost too much.

Almost
.

End of Book 3

Excerpt from Book 4:

On my weekends alone, I relish the quiet. I enjoy a few days sleeping alone in the bed in my room at the cottage, just a hot water bottle beside me in place of Michel or Julien. I didn't think I could feel this way but for the past month as I try to manage my time between them, I feel as if my body no longer belongs to me. It belongs to them, and they've used me so well, my brain is almost on a pleasure overload.

I'm not complaining. I never imagined I could feel so much lust and desire. I'm just a little overwhelmed with everything that's happened since that day I became a vampire so time alone without their touch, psychic or physical, is time to reorient myself to my new reality.

On Saturday morning, I sneak under the covers as the sun rises and pull the quilt up almost covering my eyes. I can still see thin sunbeams shining in through a tiny slit between the drapes that I never seem to be able to close completely. A million motes of dust dance in the sliver of light, and for a moment, I miss the sun. I miss it so completely that a stab of regret chokes me up because it reminds me that I'm no longer human. I draw in a deep breath and tell myself that soon, I'll have Blackstone's drug to make me a day-walker, and I'll be able to return to the sunlight.

Until then, I spend my days trapped inside.

Today, I can't sleep despite yawning. I'm still on edge because of the message Dylan sent me through the HAM operator in Davis Cove this morning. It was cryptic but I was able to figure out what he meant.

"Here's a bit of scary news. The boxes holding Schrodinger's thirteen cats were empty when scientists went to check on them this morning. Just empty boxes with no cats inside, but the security guards protecting the experiment from tampering were dead. Can't explain, but not a good sign for our theories of physics. Until we know if the cats are dead or alive, scientists will have to be extra careful when talking about causality. P.S. I'll be by tonight to help you move."

Trust Dylan to code his message using physics.  Schrodinger's cat – that refers to a theory in physics about uncertainty and causality. What Dylan means by referencing it is that somehow, the tanks holding Soren and the Twelve were empty when the security shift changed this morning. He doesn't say what they think happened to the "cats" but I can guess. The bodies in stasis were either stolen by someone in Soren's coven in the hopes of reviving them, or Soren and the Twelve found a way to fight off the infection and escape, killing the guards on their way out.

Either way, it doesn't bode well for those of us who took part in their – temporary – destruction or stasis.

I toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, blanking my mind, but have no luck. Finally, a drowsy warmth overtakes me and I must slip into a dream because I'm in some dark room in bed, my vampire eyes adjusting to the low light. Then, I feel someone's breath in my ear. A brush of lips on my cheek makes me smile. I can't make out the words at first, and frown, wishing whichever twin it was would speak up.

"What?" I say, reaching behind me to feel for hair so I can know who I'm with in bed this time, but instead of Michel's collar length strands or Julien's short hair and scruff, I feel long silky hair – far too long to be Michel.

"
Eve
…" the voice says, speaking barely above a whisper. "
Eve
…
you've been a very naughty girl
…"

"
Who
–" I turn and see white skin, white hair and red eyes. And the most evil smile I have ever imagined.

I sit up in bed and pull my covers around me, gasping from the image of Soren's face in my dream. I glance around the room. No, he wasn't here. I'm still alone.

But I do know one thing with absolute certainty.

He's
free
.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S. E. Lund is a writer and policy wonk who lives with her family of humans and animals in a century-old house on a quiet tree-lined street in a small city in Western Canada. She dreams of living in a warmer climate by the ocean where she can smell the salt air when she opens her window. When she was ten, she read
Dracula
, and has been warped ever since.